Brass Man
by GraveDigger Resurrection
Summary: Yeah, that's right, I'm Mighty Mouse." Here he comes to save the day! BrassGriss friendship, GSR, and one detective's attempt to talk some sense into his friend.


**Title:** Brass Man  
**Author:** GraveDigger Resurrection  
**Rating:** PG-13, because Brass has a sailor's mouth  
**A/N:** This has already been posted over at Geekfic, in response to 'The Queen's Crazy Challenge', but I figured I'd set it loose on the rest of my poor unsuspecting public as well. Thanks to Sara, for the beta!

_Required elements:  
Any cartoon character(s)  
Post-Its  
A call to Ms. Cleo  
A Jack-in-the-Box  
An Eddie Izzard quote  
Three reasons why Ecklie should quit C.S.I.  
A Barenaked Ladies song reference_

**Summary:** Here he comes to save the day!

* * *

It's 8 in the morning before I'm able to convince myself that I have any business doing what I'm about to do. In all likelyhood, all I'll accomplish is pissing them both off, and very possibly making things ten times worse than they already are, not that that's really possible. But hey, I'm a detective; I get paid to mess with other peoples lives. And the truth of the matter is that this has gone as far as I'm willing to stand for it.

It takes him a few minutes to come to the door after I knock, and I guess it's possible I woke him up, but right now, my 'give-a-damn' is pretty much busted. When he finally does open the door, he's not wearing his glasses, and he squints at me, running a hand through his hair. "Jim? What are you doing here?" He frowns at me, glances at his watch, and frowns again as I smirk.

"I'm here to save the day."

I receive scoff in reply. "Who are you, Mighty Mouse?" I like this cynical side of Gil, it's why we became friends in the first place.

"Yeah, that's right, I'm Mighty Mouse." And he's completely unamused. "Plus, I brought scotch, vintage stuff you know, so let me in." I wave the bottle in his face, with 2 glasses, and shove my way inside his down house.

"Jim, why are you here to get me drunk at 8:10 in the morning?" He pads in behind me, locking the door.

"I'm not here to get you _drunk,_ Gil, we already covered this. I'm here to save the day." Actually, I do plan on getting him drunk, but not so much that he forgets about the conversation we're about to have. Just so he's sloshed enough to feel really bad about it. Yeah, yeah, I'm a heartless bastard.

"And what exactly makes you think the day needs saving?" He tries for flippant, but it only comes off like a whiney six-year-old.

I ignore the question for the time being, settling back in his armchair, and ignoring his filthy look. After a long moment, he sits down on the couch reluctantly, and watches as I open the scotch and pour some of the amber liquid into both our glasses. "You got any ice?" He actually huffs at me, rolling his eyes and heaving himself up to go get some from the fridge. "You know, I bet Lindsey learned that from you." There's a violent noise from the kitchen in reply. He never could take a joke.

As he comes back, my eyes rest on the open migraine medication on the coffee table. Shit, he can't have alcohol with that stuff in his system! "Have a migraine?"

He shakes his head gingerly as he drops 3 cubes into each of our glasses and sits back down on the couch. "Just a headache. I didn't take any of those," he motions to the pill bottle. "I just leave them open so I don't have to fool with the safety lid." He takes a drink of the scotch, and there's quiet for a moment. "Not that I don't like abrasive cops shoving there way into my house when I'm trying to sleep, but..."

Right. Time to get down to business. "I'm here about Sara."

Immediately, his hackles raise, and his face takes on that blank look that he thinks indicates control, but really reminds me more of a sick fish than anything. "What about her? She's been doing better since her suspension..."

That's not at all what I'm here about and he knows it, but I can go along for a while. "Yeah, but you know Ecklie has it out for her Gil, and she's in trouble, no matter how many of us are watching her back."  
Gil's face twists unpleasantly at that thought. "Ecklie should be fired. Or maybe save himself some face and resign."

I chuckle. "There are so many reasons I agree, but why do _you_ say that?"

He arches a brow at me. "Well, if that many people hated me, _I'd_ quit." He's really quite a caustic man, if you ever take the time to know him.

"Yeah, and to be honest, he doesn't help the justice system, he _raises_ the crime rate."

A small smile appears on his face. "How so?"

"Well, don't _you_ get violent urges whenever you see his face?" He grins at me for a second, before sobering up, and staring at his hands. We both know the real reason we want that Weasel gone. We want Sara to keep her job.

"So...is that what this is about? What Ecklie's doing to Sara?" He sighs. "Jim, you know there's nothing I can do abou-"

"Actually, I'm here about what _you're_ doing to her, Gil, and we both know you can do something about _that._" I sip some of my scotch, as he blinks at me, before taking a huge gulp of his, and almost choking.

When he can breathe again, the mandatory denial starts and his face darkens. "I'm not doing anything to Sara. I..." He pauses as my snort, scowls, and tries a diversion tactic. "What business is this of yours, anyway, Brass?" Oh, last name basis now, is it? Well, that makes this a little easier, anyway.

"Well, _Doctor Grissom,_ why don't you look for yourself?" I pull my reason for coming out of my pocket, and hand it over to him without another word.

There is a long, long moment of quiet, the ticking of a clock filling the room painfully as he stares at the bedraggled little Post-it. That dumb little yellow piece of paper had me in mental deliberations for 3 hours this morning. It looks like it's gonna do a little worse to Gil, as he suddenly drops it to the table, and downs the rest of his scotch. Silently, I refill his glass. "How...how did you get that?" He has the nerve to actually give me an accusing stare.

"She dropped it, and told me I might as well keep it. I thought it would do you some good to see." I think that scene is something I'll remember for the rest of my life, watching that sticky note float out of her jacket pocket. She didn't even try to stop me when I picked it up, and that sad smile on her face is what pushed me to where I am now.

_Stop loving Gil Grissom._

That's all it said, in faded scrawl. I stared at her writing for half a minute before I could look up at her. She just gave me that tired look, and that damn smile, and told me to keep it. _"It's a year old anyway, Brass, and it hasn't reminded me yet. Burn it, for all I care."_ I couldn't even say anything before she disappeared down the hall. When I'm rendered speechless, I _know_ it's bad.

Gil is my friend. My best, probably, and I don't want to be the one to piss him off, or hurt him. But Sara...I can't let him get away with this shit. Not anymore. She's trying so hard to get her feet back on the ground. She deserves to be happy, and so does Gil, but more importantly, Gil deserves to have his ass kicked. I'm providing the service free of charge tonight.

Silence settles over us again, but I don't let it stay for long. "If you ask me, she ought to slap one of those on your forehead with the word 'asshole' on it."

"Nobody _asked_ you," he snarks back, still staring at the note, now resting on the floor.

"Yeah, well, I've got a big mouth, and a lot of opinions, so I'm sharing them anyway." His shoulders slump, and I absolutely hate this, but his asinine behavior has gone far enough.

"You know, I wonder about you sometimes, Gil. You're revered in every crime lab around the country, as some secluded genius, but you can't see what's right in front of you, even when it's printed out in black marker. You've got such a reputation, but I'm beginning to wonder if it's the right one. I mean, are you really some great enigma wrapped in mystery, or just a fool consumed by fear? 'Cause let me tell you Grissom, only a fool could keep doing this to her."

He picks up his glass, and rolls it between his hands as I let a sip of the scotch burn down my throat. "I...I'm just trying to do what's best for her, Jim. I just want–"  
I scoff angrily. "What have you been reading, the gospel according to St. Bastard? You don't even know what's right for _you,_ Gil, so how the hell would you know what's best for Sara?" His mouth drops open in protest, but I don't want to hear it. "The best thing for you would be to listen to what she's been saying to you for the past five years, because apparently, she's the only one between the two of you who has a _brain._"

"She doesn't have herself together!" He snaps back angrily.

"And you do? At least she's sure about what she wants, Gil. But you've fucked up so bad, she thinks you want her to stop giving a damn about you, and while it might be best, it's not what either of you really needs, so _why_ can't you stop being such a son of a bitch about this?" The look in his eyes tells me he doesn't know the answer.

"Gil, what's it gonna take for you to find the answer that rest of us already _know?_ A call to Mrs. Cleo?"

He's sees an opening there, and takes it "She was shut down years ago, Jim, for embezzlement charges, among other things. Sued for millions because she kept her callers on hold for hours and racked their phone bills up into the thousands. Besides...she was a fraud."

"And you aren't? That is without a doubt the most pathetic diversionary tactic I've ever witnessed," I retort dryly, and he rests his forehead in his hand. "So if the Tarot Cards won't do it, what do you need, Divine Intervention? Because that's what's going on right here, Gil, intervention from someone who's _divinely pissed off!"_

I've worked myself into silence now, waiting as he gathers himself to answer. When it finally comes, I'm not sure whether to be even angrier, or feel sorry for the inept man in front of me. "I...don't you think I want to, Jim?"

"So what in the hell is stopping you?"

"It's against policy.." He says in a near whisper.

"Yeah, and you'll get in hells of trouble, if Ecklie finds out. Are you gonna tell him, Gil? Because we sure as hell won't."

Gil lets out a groan then, and slumps back into the cushions dejectedly. "We could never get married."

The noise that comes out of me is rather embarrassing, astonished and infuriated. "You'd have to get the _balls_ to ask her out to _dinner_ first before you have the right to worry about that, you idiot!"

"I...it's just not safe, Jim." He says that in a final sort of way, as though it explains everything.

"What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"It's too risky. If I hold my tongue, I'll never lose my voice. I couldn't...I couldn't handle that."

I fight an eye-roll. "Oh, yes, well, that certainly cleared everything up for me."

His eyes meet mine for the first time since this conversation began. "Stop mocking me! Look, Jim, Sara is so different from me! She's young, and beautiful, and she could have any man she wanted if--"

I grip my glass tighter and dive in. "You're right, she _could_ have any man she wanted, Gil, but for some reason beyond my comprehension, she picked _you._ Stop saying she's not worth the risk, when she's taken nothing but risks for you, and gotten nothing in return, alright, Gil? Don't insult her like that."

He bites his lip, and looks down again. "I think...I think she may hate me anyway."

"She may very well be damn close to it, but that note proves you wrong. You might be right pretty soon, though, because if you keep twisting her around like you have been, she's gonna pop her top completely one of these days. You just treat her like she's some toy, a jack-in-the box you can just keep cranking tighter and tighter for your own amusement." I take a sip of scotch to calm down a little. "The thing I don't think you've figured out yet, Gil, is that every time you turn the crank, another couple notes of your funeral dirge plays, and when you've finally wound her so tight she can't take it anymore, it's all gonna blow up in your face. The worst part?" I set the glass down with a 'clink' and the ice cubes rattle around. "You're gonna deserve it."

He looks like a kicked dog, right then, and it takes all my will to remind myself it's for the best. I've been beating his head in for the past thirty minutes now, and all I can do is pray it helped, at least a little. "What can I do? I...I'd do anything to fix this." His murmur is rough and sad, but I fight a smile, knowing I've got him.

"You don't have to do _anything,_ Grissom, you just have to pick up the phone, and get this started. Invite her to dinner, ask her to the movies, offer to help her with her Quantum Physics, whatever the hell it is you geeks like to do! But this sentimentality doesn't look good on me, Gil, so get your head out of your ass and let me keep my reputation as a hard-ass in tact!"

He's quiet for a moment, but I can see his determination shift from stubbornness to productiveness. I watch with a smirk as he reaches for the cordless, and rise, knowing that's my cue. "Well, now that I've saved the day, I'm going to take my Mighty Self, and go home and sleep."

He looks up at me, with a grateful nod of his head. "Jim, I..."

I chuckle. "Forget it, Gil. You've always been a one-man idiot." I turn away, but stop again as a thought occurs. "Oh, and by the way? Whatever you say to her, Gil, there needs to be one hell of an apology stuck in there somewhere, got it? One _hell_ of an apology."

He actually grins at me, as he punches in the first few numbers. "Believe me, Jim, I plan on it." I chuckle as I turn and make my way through the front hall, his voice reaching me just as I pull open the door. "Sara? Hi, it's...it's me." With a shake of my head, I step out into the hot Vegas sunlight, and shut the door behind me with a smirk on my face.

_I still got it._

* * *

I'm coming to the conclusion, through looking at this and my more recent entries...That Gil Grissom REALLY pisses me off. heehee, yeah, so I had Brass do what so many of us would like to. Hope you enjoyed, feedback is much appreciated, and Thanks for Reading! 


End file.
